


If you really hold me tight

by perfchan



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Obviously lol, POV Shiro (Voltron), Sheith Secret Santa 2019, canonverse, mostly cozy and soft with just a touch of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 23:01:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21962560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfchan/pseuds/perfchan
Summary: Shiro wakes to the feeling of the mattress dipping behind his back. It’s a gentle drop from light sleep into slow wakefulness. True alertness is still blanketed in gauzy dreams, wrapped by the soothing hum of the Atlas herself. His ship is still, caught in the orbit of a peaceful planet just as he left her. The light that seeps in at the edges of he and Keith’s bedroom door is thready and soft. It can’t yet be close to morning.His eyes drift shut, content to fall back to sleep just as soon as he feels Keith settle behind him once again.A moment passes and Keith’s warmth doesn’t press against his back.*A winter themed, cozy oneshot where the leader of the Blade of Marmora and the Commander of the Atlas both get a much deserved snow day.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 92





	If you really hold me tight

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is a secret santa gift for the 2019 exchange on [twitter](https://twitter.com/sheithsanta)! Happy holidays @_blueyblues!! 
> 
> (As a side note, if anyone is following my other sheith writing, I promised a sequel to ‘it feels permanent to me.’ that fic is /absolutely/ still being written, so dw!! I have holiday fics to share and then the sequel should be the first thing I post in the new year.) 
> 
> In the meantime, get yourself a toasty warm beverage and enjoy:

*** 

Shiro wakes to the feeling of the mattress dipping behind his back. It’s a gentle drop from light sleep into slow wakefulness. True alertness is still blanketed in gauzy dreams, wrapped by the soothing hum of the Atlas herself. His ship is still, caught in the orbit of a peaceful planet just as he left her. The light that seeps in at the edges of he and Keith’s bedroom door is thready and soft. It can’t yet be close to morning. 

His eyes drift shut, content to fall back to sleep just as soon as he feels Keith settle behind him once again. 

A moment passes and Keith’s warmth doesn’t press against his back. 

There’s another soundless shift of weight. Keith pulls the duvet back over his legs, but he doesn’t lay down. 

And then. 

There’s a  _ snap _ , a lisp, 

a  _ crunchcrunch crunch,  _

and

“Keith,” 

Keith freezes behind him. The chewing noises stop. A beat of silence, like if Keith just doesn’t  _ acknowledge _ the fact that Shiro said something, he really didn’t. 

Another beat passes. 

And another. And then, 

Slowly, so slowly, 

Keith returns to his crunching. First, one slow bite down. Hesitation, then another crunch. Renewed confidence. More crunching. In the dark silence of their room, the sound echoes off pale gray walls, unmistakable  _ chewing. _

“Keith.” Shiro is fully awake now. “I can hear you. What are you doing?” 

Shiro rolls over just in time to see Keith stuff the remainder of a cookie in his mouth. 

“Noffing,” Keith says through the crumbs. He looks down at Shiro and, mouth full, gives him a closed lip smile. 

“It’s---” Shiro sits up on one elbow, the Altean prosthetic nodding to life underneath his weight. He leans forward enough to view the clock on the nightstand next to Keith’s side of the bed. “Three in the morning.” 

Keith shrugs. Licks the crumbs off his fingers---first the index and his middle, then the thumb slips inside his mouth with relish. He tilts his head, the faintest hint of mischief lighting his dark eyes. “Would it change your mind if I said that I brought you one too?” 

Shiro squints, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. Shimmies up so that he’s sitting next to Keith, shoulder to shoulder. He leans heavy on him, teasing. “Am I that easy?” 

Keith is solemn as he produces not one, but two more cookies. Hands one to Shiro. 

“The answer is yes,” Shiro sighs. 

Keith smirks. 

In his defense, they’re Hunk’s cookies. 

And Keith is...Keith. 

Shiro settles back into the pillows, and Keith curls up next to him, already biting into his next cookie. He fits against Shiro’s body like fingers knit together. The cookies have just the right amount of snap---halos of sweet, buttery, crunchy perfection. 

The Atlas hums; the planet turns; Shiro can smell the shampoo they share in Keith’s ever tousled mass of hair. Together, they munch. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Keith mumbles against Shiro’s chest. His not-exactly-midnight snack finished, Keiths runs his thumb over the knuckle of his pointer finger. It’s a nervous habit of his; the first time Shiro witnessed it, his CO was berating Keith for hijacking one of the Garrison’s ATVs and taking it for a spin...that was  _ after _ Keith disabled the safety mechanism that capped the vehicle’s max speed at 80 mph. The half of Shiro that wasn’t inwardly laughing at how red the CO’s face was getting (no doubt in response to Keith’s apparent disinterest in authority,) was impressed by Keith’s blatant skill in all things fast. 

Here in their bed, years and galaxies away from that first meeting, Shiro pulls Keith into his side. His Altean hand creeps around Keith’s back to settle over his hip, to hold him that much closer, careful and pointed disregard for any space that might have been lingering between them. Keith’s fidgeting stills. 

Keith couldn’t sleep. Shiro’s other hand ghosts along the devastating angle of Keith’s jaw, like he can will away any clench of stress. His thumb strokes at the edge of the scar there, pad pressing into the edge of skin torn and knotted back together. The downturn of Keith’s mouth in response, the slight nudge against Shiro’s palm, forbids Shiro from lingering in past regret. Not tonight. 

Shiro obeys. Turns his hand, knuckles gentle as they caress up Keith’s cheek. Someone else might close their eyes, shrink under such measureless affection, but Keith is steady under Shiro’s touch. 

He tangles fingers in Keith’s hair instead. Dark, coarse locks curl over Shiro’s hand as he pushes the hair off Keith’s forehead to peer down into his face. Keith’s thick brows rise over his forehead, towards the tender widow’s peak of his hairline as he looks up to meet Shiro’s gaze. “What?” Keith asks. 

They’ve helped each other through nightmares. Lived nightmares. 

Shiro has seen these eyes full of worry and hurt. Burning with anger, justified and smoldering deeper than Keith has the words to say. Brimming with storm-dark tears that Keith has refused to let fall. Red-rimmed, the tears let loose. He’s seen them close, delicate purpleblue vasculature criss-crossing the lids as Keith squeezed his eyes shut, staving off hard memories. 

This isnt that. 

Keith meets Shiro’s gaze, maybe a little tired, but  _ steady, _ steady as anything. 

“Nervous for this one?” Shiro asks. 

Because, sneaking out of their bedroom to steal baked goods from the Atlas’ galley, while not unheard of, isn’t typical of Keith. (Even if Hunk’s confections almost universally warrant it.) 

Because, not tomorrow, but later this phoeb, Keith will be leaving the Atlas as the leader of the Blades. They discussed the details of his upcoming mission earlier in the day, and though Keith didn’t seem particularly worried about it, maybe there’s disquiet there that Shiro didn’t pick up on. He strokes the pad of his thumb over Keith’s brow, and clarifies: “Are you thinking about the Blade initiative in Kaxarta?”

An expression flits over Keith’s features as if he’s offended by the very idea that  _ he, _ Keith Kogane, could be insecure about something. It makes the edges of Shiro’s lips tilt up, if only because it’s an expression he’s seen many, many times before. 

Keith shakes his head. “No. My team is strong.” 

It’s not the first mission of its kind, nor will it be the longest. For every step that Shiro has taken as the Commander of the Atlas---one of the chief members in the ever-growing Coalition---Keith has made his own impressive progress as the newly appointed leader of the Blades. Their respective roles sometimes cause them to be galaxies apart, but even so, they’re moving forward side-by-side. 

He stretches, body moving languid against Shiro’s. “Just...restless.” 

Shiro knows the feeling. Together, they’re re-learning the cadence of life during peacetime; it’s a very different rhythm than the throes of war. The inaction sometimes crawls under his skin too. Maybe it speaks to Shiro’s own cynicism, but there are days---good days, days where worries are simple and happiness comes easily, days like today---during which being with Keith like this just feels  _ too good to be true _ . Like he can’t wrap his head around the fact that he gets to have this. Keith, quiet in his arms, late at night. Falling asleep next to him, waking up with him. Keith getting cookie crumbs on their bedspread. Shiro smiles. After everything he’s endured,  _ that’s  _ the problem he’s faced with tonight?

It leaves him with a feeling that’s too much to put into words, but if Shiro did, maybe it would sound like,  _ Keith. We made it. _

Shiro leans down, just enough to press his lips against Keith’s temple. 

Keith pulls the blanket up over the shoulder that’s not flush against Shiro’s side and snuggles impossibly closer. The tip of Keith’s nose is cold where it squishes against Shiro’s face. He doesn’t need an excuse---never would he need an excuse---but he still offers one, a little sullen: “I’m freezing. Cold as hell today. Still need to defrost.”

As if to make his point, he slides one foot over Shiro’s ankle, cold toes tickling up Shiro’s calf. 

“Ah!” Shiro leans forward, catching the offending foot to gives it a squeeze. “Keith!” 

“See,” Keith says, smug. “Like ice!” 

*

The crew spent the day on a planet in the Aua system, called Ull. 

It’s the planet the Atlas orbits now, a pearly stretch of snow and ice suspended just past the ship’s bow. Leaders from several different systems in this galaxy will convene here to discuss possible membership in the Coalition. But today, before the proceedings begin, the Atlas and her crew were free to enjoy their shore leave against the planet’s wintery backdrop:

As soon as the door to the cruiser lifted open, the landing party tumbled out into drifts of snow. The former paladins of Voltron (plus a few others) greeted the planet Ull with all of the decorum and severity expected of the defenders of the universe. 

Or not. 

Keith, at Shiro’s side, has his hands in front of his face, huffing a breath in them to keep them warm. He stomps his boots, packing down the fluffy snow underneath, already cranky because of the sub-zero temperatures. “Shiro, let’s---” 

_ Smack! _

Suddenly there’s slush dripping down Keith’s neck, ice cold water soaking into the collar of his suit. Shiro bites the inside of his cheek to conceal a smile. Some things never change. 

Shoulders raised and eyes narrowed, Keith turns. 

To find Lance pointing to Allura at his side. “Her. It was her, Keith, buddy, I would  _ never _ \---” 

“Shiro,” Keith mutters, crouching down to ready his counterattack. Steely determination flaring, he stands. Shiro gets a snowball shoved into his chest---officially enlisting him in the war. “You take his right. I’ll cover his left. Good?” 

Shiro doesn’t need to be told twice. Lance has a wild look in his eyes that can only be translated as,  _ oh shit.  _ Shiro discovers a kind of twisted pleasure curling in his gut at being part of the cause. He also finds that the prosthetic can form perfect snowballs and hardly be bothered by the cold. “Oh. I’m good.” 

And the shit-eating grin that Lance was trying to keep from his face finally breaks free. He takes off running, arms flailing, shouting something about his perfect aim. Keith pelts him with a snowball and is close behind. Shiro follows both of them, careening through drifts of snow, dodging and launching attacks of his own. The landing pad for their cruiser is adjacent to plenty of open space; the planet’s hearty evergreens stand tall off in the distance. He and Keith waste no time in securing the higher ground. 

It looks as if Lance will face an untimely end, 

Until. 

Allura appears, out of thin air, her hair loose and palest white like the snow drift she’s standing atop. And she has a snowball in each hand. 

“Allura, babe, great timing,” Lance is panting, arms crossed over his head in self-defense, “I could use a little---” 

“Oh, I think not,” she says, the picture of royalty. “Correct me if I’m wrong, darling,” her smile is wicked, “But isn’t there a human saying: ‘All’s fair in love and war?’” 

And Lance’s jaw drops and his eyes bug out and Keith is  _ cackling _ , but Shiro is already making a break for it---

Because if they’re going to take on the Queen of New Altea, they’ll need every advantage they can muster. 

They continue like that, Shiro’s cheeks smarting from the wind, lungs raw with breathing in freezing air and laughing, laughing like he hasn’t laughed in forever. 

The tips of his toes and his ears are frozen, but it doesn’t matter, not when Romelle has roped the MFE pilots into creating an entire army of snow angels across the planet’s frozen ground, and Coran’s snowman has a moustache, 

And Keith is breathless and flushed and brilliant standing at Shiro’s side, 

Grinning, guileless and sharp, exceptional, his smile searing against the wide sky---like a boy from a hoverbike race a long time ago. 

Shiro couldn’t do it then, but he can now, so he tackles Keith into a snow drift and presses cold lips to every part of his face.  _ I love him, _ he thinks,  _ I love him more every day.  _

“Shiro!” Keith sighs happy into the embrace, both surprised and not at all. Shiro can feel the pull of Keith’s smile under his mouth. 

Once they head inside, there’s a fire roaring. The Ullian are warm and hospitable in all the ways that their land is not, and they seem to be amused rather than offended by the antics of the Atlas crew. This lodging is worlds away from the sterile meeting rooms the crew is subjected to all too often as diplomats. 

Thick rugs over the wooden floors. Low ceilings to keep in the heat. Heavy wooden doors leading every which way, out into a vast network of tunnels and rooms like this one. Their capital city. 

At their entrance, Pidge looks up from her screen and shakes her head at everyone’s snow-covered appearance, but she scoots so that Shiro can sit close to the fire. It roars somehow golden-green and molten-blue over the hearth, and gives off more than enough heat to bring the feeling back into Shiro’s human fingers. 

Keith sits next to Shiro and promptly takes off his own boots to stick his socked feet next to the fire. There’s ice chunks in his hair and the tip of his nose is still red with cold. He’s pointedly ignoring Lance but also somehow arguing with him at the same time. The low seating is unlike a typical sofa, but comfortable enough. 

It’s not long before Shiro is starting to get toasty from the fire. He ought to be preparing for the inevitable shift from  _ this _ back into being  _ Captain Shirogane, Commander of the Atlas _ , but instead he’s thinking that he could fall asleep, right here, maybe. 

He’s on the very edge of sleep when Keith sits up straight next to him. He blinks and jostles Shiro awake. 

“Shiro. Do you smell tha---” 

“Oh man, oh man, you  _ guys _ ,” Hunk barrels in the room, a cookie sheet in both hands and pure joy on his face. “They have a kitchen here, a _ real _ kitchen, with normal, well space-kinda-normal anyways, ingredients and---” 

“You baked cookies?” Keith asks. 

“Dude.” Hunk shakes the cookie sheets. The oven mitts covering his hands look well loved. “So many cookies.” 

Keith gets up and crosses the room in long strides and socked feet. “Hunk. You’re the best.” He slides a cookie off the sheet, 

“Aww, thanks Kei---uh, careful!! They’re hot!” 

And Keith shoves one fresh from the oven cookie directly into his mouth. He groans, head tipping back, and already reaching for another one. 

“Jesus, Keith, save some for the rest of us,” Lance complains, unpeeling himself from Allura so that she is free to get up as well. 

Hunk is beaming. “Yeah, at first I was like, well you know, can’t go wrong with chocolate chip, might as well make those, but then I thought to myself, Hunk, use your noggin! Wouldn’t it be better to use the chocolate for, like, hot cocoa and instead make---” 

“There’s hot chocolate too?!” Keith blurts. Without waiting for an answer he turns to Shiro and mouths,  _ ‘hot chocolate!!’ _ His eyes are wide like this is the best thing he’s heard in this galaxy. Shiro nods and Keith grins back at him, all happiness. 

And at the sight of it, Shiro feels warmer than the fire’s burn, brighter than that gentle light. This is something vivid, something that blooms bright in his chest and expands too big to contain. Shiro’s been cold before, he’s been cold that stretches on forever. He’s had his fair share of darkness. Those days are in his past and nothing can remove them. 

_ But, _ Shiro has the courage to think,  _ in the past is where those days will stay _ . With Keith at his side, he believes that. 

So a little bit later, when Shiro lifts a mug of hot chocolate to his lips, and Keith is happily sipping his, 

And Keith is close enough that Shiro can loop an arm around his waist, 

And Keith asks him, face tilted up towards Shiro, easy and content, “Really good, right?” 

When Shiro responds, smiling, “It’s perfect.” 

He means it. 

*

In their bed that night, when it’s just past 3 am and they should be asleep but instead they’re sneaking cookies, Keith has become a furnace against his side. He’s finally starting to unwind. Shiro presses into his insole, and Keith wiggles his toes, their limbs all tangled up together. 

“You know, Keith,” he drops Keith’s foot, instead laying a heavy hand on his hip. “One way to get warm is  _ not _ to wander around the spaceship barefoot. Late at night. Stealing cookies instead of sleeping.”

Keith barks out a laugh. He has a hand on Shiro’s chest and he buries his face against Shiro’s neck and huffs out another laugh, and the word, “True,” muffled against Shiro’s skin.

The laugh becomes a nibble, soft kiss and heavy breath against Shiro’s neck. “Shiro,” Keith breaths, lows. 

“Hmm?” Shiro stays purposely ignorant. He lets his hand drift lower and gets a palmful of Keith’s ass. “Still cold, baby?” 

Keith sits up and grins at him, bottom lip caught in his teeth. 

His hand moves up Shiro’s thigh. Squeezes. 

It doesn’t take anything more than that for Shiro to get his mouth on Keith’s. Shiro turns slightly, just enough to get the angle right, to blanket Keith with his body, pushing Keith slightly into the mattress. Keith matches him, rising up to meet him, face upturned, perfect in his response. 

He tastes like the sweetness of the cookies deepened with warmth, warmth, warmth. Restless, but now in a different way. 

Keith’s open mouthed kisses, fervent and vivid like only he is, lick into Shiro like the freedom of flying, the familiarity of coming home. The sharp nick of canines and soft lips. The press of his tongue, the heady feeling of his breath. Shiro could never get enough. Keith has his hands on either side of Shiro’s face, holding him, fingertips heavy underneath his jaw, thumbs featherlight against his cheeks. 

Shiro urges him closer, both hands on Keith’s hips now. Keith shifts, rising off the bed to his knees, pushing Shiro back against the headboard. He moves over Shiro without breaking the kiss. He could settle in Shiro’s lap, the way he has so many times before, legs spread wide for his knees to rest on either side of Shiro’s waist. Shiro loves him there, loves letting his hands run up Keith’s thighs, where the dark hair of his calves becomes sparser, gorgeous sworls against the pale skin of his thighs. He loves to feel Keith’s solid weight against him, to kiss down his chest, mark the way his abs tighten, feel his breath hitch. 

Keith could settle in Shiro’s lap---but he doesn’t. 

Instead, Keith slows the kiss. Pulls just slightly away. Shiro opens his eyes to find Keith already watching him. 

Shiro blinks at him, and Keith’s mouth pulls into a smile. 

Keith’s eyes glint yellow in the dark. 

Shiro knows that look. 

And then Keith is kissing him again, but they’re both sloppier now. Shiro can’t be blamed for his lack of coordination--- not when Keith is settled over just one of his legs, hard against his thigh, rocking down as his mouth wanders from Shiro’s mouth to his jaw, and back again. Not when Keith’s hands are wandering lower, touch heavy with intent. He rucks up Shiro’s sleep shirt, then his palms slide down Shiro’s chest to Shiro’s waist. And up again. They’re sharing uneven breathes more than kissing when Keith’s touch finally settles over Shiro’s boxers. 

His hand is around Shiro’s cock, mouth nibbling at Shiro’s bottom lip. He squeezes and Shiro groans. 

“Actually, Keith,” Shiro confesses as Keith shifts, settling between his legs, “I’m glad you woke me up.” 

Keith smirks, “That so?” 

“Ye-sss,” Shiro hisses, broken, as Keith lowers his mouth. He sucks a wet spot, mouthing at the head of Shiro’s cock through the fabric. 

Shiro pushes the bangs out of Keith’s eyes, just as tenderly as before, though the context has changed. He leans forward as Keith sits up. Keith tilts his head, smile disappearing as Shiro’s fingers edge past his lips. His eyes fall shut and he sucks on Shiro’s index and middle finger instead. Earnest. Sloppy and gorgeous. Shiro grinds upward, into Keith’s palm. 

“Ke-eith,” 

Keith pulls off Shiro’s fingers, pausing to press glossy lips against the pads before he sets Shiro’s hand on top of his head. He pulls Shiro out of his boxers now, his thumb under the cockhead, touch warm against the slight wetness there. 

He takes Shiro into his mouth, and Shiro’s head falls against headboard, hips rocking up slightly into Keith’s mouth, hot and perfect. 

Keith adjusts, almost-purr of pleasure in his throat as he takes Shiro deep. Shiro clenches the hand not buried in Keith’s hair into a fist, clenching his hand with so much force that the lights on the prosthetic blink blue-white in warning. Bleary eyed, he sees Keith’s shoulder jerking. He has his hand on himself, 

“No, baby, save, ah--h, save that for me,” 

Keith’s eyes flick up to Shiro, slitted and pulled wide with lust. He stops touching himself. 

Shiro bites down on an expletive at the sight of him. “Fuck, fu--look so good, Keith, Keith, you’re so good---” 

Keith’s pace stutters at the praise, hand shivering around the base of Shiro’s cock---that’s all it takes to push Shiro over the edge. 

Keith sucks him through, mouth fatality hot now, sucking until Shiro is seeing white and oversensitive and gasping his name. 

Once satisfied, Keith is sitting on his heels. The back of his hand swipes against his mouth, cleaning the mess from his chin. Now when he says Shiro’s name, the familiar rasp of his voice is almost hoarse in his throat. 

Shiro pulls him in, kissing filthy against his mouth, down where his hair curls ‘gainst the pale column of his neck, the dark freckle that dots just below Keith’s jaw. By now Shiro knows their placement better than any constellation. He can feel the thrum of a moan under Keith’s skin. 

He pulls Keith in, drawing Keith against him, Keith’s back against his chest. Keith completely wrapped in his arms. Shiro pushes his hair to one side, his kisses moving from the subtle jut of Keith’s spine on the back of his neck, almost delicate, to sensitive skin under his ear, to the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder. 

Keith’s head falls back against Shiro’s shoulder, he arches---beautiful always, but even more devastating like this, narrow waist in Shiro’s hands, his ass firmly between Shiro’s thighs. “Shiro,” 

“I know,” Shiro promises. His hands move from the lovely hair that tracks down Keith’s stomach to under his waistband. 

“You’re so good for me,” Shiro repeats, this time his voice low, close to Keith’s ear. Keith has his hands around Shiro’s wrists, head tilted back on Shiro’s shoulder, and he groans out Shiro’s name, voice charged. Wanting. 

Supplied with lube, Shiro wraps his hand around Keith’s cock. 

He can hear all the little breathy noises, the low half moans, the hitches, the way the saliva sits heavy in Keith’s mouth as he fucks into Shiro’s fist. His feet slide against the sheets, searching for purchase as his hips rise, shoulder blades sharp against Shiro’s chest. 

“So gorgeous baby,” Shiro tells him. Raw and unfiltered praise drops from his lips against Keith’s skin, in time with his hand around Keith. “Fucking me, being fucked, between my legs,” 

Keith smiles at that. He has his hand around Shiro’s wrist, but releases his hold to touch Shiro’s cheek. Turning his head to catch Shiro’s mouth in an artless kiss. “D-definitely there, huh,” 

“Everywhere,” Shiro tells him. He’s thinking of Keith earlier, brilliant. His flushed cheeks, the round delight in his smile, the way all his edges soften for Shiro, only for Shiro. “Always. You make me so happy baby,” 

Keith has his fingers in the short hair at the base of Shiro’s neck; they spasm at the simple phrase, and he inhales, more bashful from stark honesty than he would be from the filthiest of dirty talk. His eyelashes are stubby and dark against the flush of his cheeks, fluttering as he listens to Shiro’s words. 

“Every day, better than the one before. With you.” 

Shiro continues, merciless, mouth along Keith’s jaw, slowing his pace around Keith, gentle and devastating--- _ Keith, fuck, some days I just, I can’t, you’re more than I can believe, Keith, I love you- _ \--until Keith is coming with a sharp intake of breath and Shiro’s name. 

Keith goes slack against Shiro’s chest. “Shiro.” 

They stay like that, Keith wrapped in his arms, breathing deep against his chest. Shiro kisses against his neck, soothing. His hand stroking the inside of Keith’s thigh, just shy of sensitivity. Shiro’s prosthetic has enough range to grab something to clean them up without having to leave the bed. He tucks Keith back into his boxers, and Keith turns, smooshing his face into Shiro’s chest. He wraps his arms around Shiro and Shiro responds by kissing the top of his head. 

“Are you warmed up now,” Shiro asks him, very serious, a little bit later. He can’t see Keith’s expression but he imagines an eye roll. Keith’s lazy wave of dismissal indicates that he’s probably correct. He’s falling asleep, but Shiro can still make out the  _ ‘Love you, Shiro,’ _ from his murmuring. 

Shiro relaxes into the pillows with Keith’s steady breaths once more next to his ears. It’s late. He has no trouble falling back asleep. 

*

In the morning, Shiro is the one who sneaks away. 

Keith is still asleep, his mouth gently open, hand curled on his chest. His brows scrunch together when Shiro slides out of bed. Shiro holds his breath for a moment, but Keith soon relaxes---frowning as he tucks his face back into a pillow. Satisfied that he’ll stay asleep for now, Shiro makes his way out of their bedroom as quietly as he can. 

Shiro now embarks on the most crucial mission of them all: obtaining coffee. 

Drowsy, he pads down the familiar halls of the officer’s quarters to their shared kitchenette. The full overhead lights haven’t illuminated yet, only the soft blue auxiliary lights along the floor for at least another hour. With most everyone else still asleep, the walk is calming, quiet. Shiro is an early riser, always has been, but it never fails that one person beats him awake: 

Sam Holt is already sitting at one of the tables, reading a newspaper. Somehow fully dressed and ready for the day. He doesn’t comment on Shiro’s attire (a sleep shirt, boxers, and socks) or uncombed hair, and Shiro doesn’t ask him where he got a newspaper this far out in space. 

Shiro puts on a fresh pot, measuring out the coffee grounds and slapping the ‘on’ button, more through muscle memory than actual thought. He yawns, the coffee pot gurgles to life. It percolates, filling the room with the smell of warm and roasty comfort; by now Shiro’s traveled through countless worlds, but there’s no substitute for the unique contentment of Earth coffee. Shiro leans against the counter and soaks in the smell and the blissful feeling of doing nothing. The Atlas hums in agreement. Sam swishes the pages of his paper. 

A few minutes later, Shiro fishes out the coffee creamer from the fridge, behind day old leftovers, and the sludge Coran likes. He grabs a couple of mugs from the cabinets and the canister of sugar. Keith takes his coffee stupidly sweet, more milk than coffee. Shiro began drinking his black during his second Mars mission---about a year before Kerberos---and he’s never been able to go back. 

Two very full mugs in hand, Shiro nods to Sam and returns to he and Keith’s quarters. He walks slow enough not to spill. 

The door is silent, the way it slides open as Shiro approaches, but movement in the room rouses Keith. When he squints towards the door and sees Shiro, Keith moves as if to sit up, sluggish and grumbly. He slumps, more or less still horizontal, but apparently upright enough to lift up a hand to accept his coffee. Shiro hands it to him before settling back down on his side. 

Shiro touches a sensor on the wall, and the metal shades across from their bed rise,  _ clackclackclack, _ revealing the most decadent view. It’s been a long time since he first broke the atmosphere, but Shiro still has the thought that he will never tire of waking up amongst the stars.

“Mornin’” Keith tells him, his voice a low, sleepy rasp, before he takes the first sip of coffee. His hair is sticking up and he frowns when Shiro grins at the bird’s nest. 

“Good morning,” Shiro says, and immediately follows up by asking if Keith knows how Sam Holt is getting a newspaper delivered to the Aua system. 

Keith does not, but he still listens, sleepy and warm against Shiro’s side, to Shiro’s proposed theory. (“It has to be Pidge’s doing, right? But the wormholing tech she’s developing---”) 

“Colleen was in the training hall the day before yesterday,” Keith offers in gossip, once awake enough to contribute to conversation. Though that’s probably unrelated, they both sip their coffee and stew. 

The space wolf comes in---not through the door, of course---and trots up to sit on Keith’s lap. She’s massive now, more than half the size of their bed, but Keith barely seems to notice. He strokes down her silky fur, and asks her if she ‘slept good.’ 

(Shiro takes a long drought of his coffee, slurping while he witnesses the one-sided (?) conversation. He has no idea if Keith actually listens and understands the wolf or if this is some incredible, drawn out schtick, but he’s come to accept it regardless.) 

Keith reports that the wolf wants Keith to accompany her on a morning walk. Shiro raises his eyebrows. Keith is solemn as he explains to her why that’s not going to happen, not on this planet; she might not mind the weather, but he doesn’t have fur and it’s too cold for him. He promises that she’ll be going with him on the next mission. 

Distantly, there’s the sound of the rest of the ship starting to wake up---Veronica’s braying laugh, the shuffle of officers’ footsteps down the hall, Coran’s unmistakable exclamations. 

Pillows behind his back, and mug bobbing in his floating hand, Shiro checks the day’s itinerary on his datapad. It’s not long before Keith grows impatient with Shiro’s slow scroll, and plucks the datapad from his grasp. At Shiro’s mildly annoyed expression, Keith smiles and shifts a little, like,  _ well, c’mere then. _ Shiro can do nothing but agree. He finishes reading the morning brief from over Keith’s shoulder, Keith’s free hand tucked in Shiro’s lap against his thigh. It seems their meetings don’t begin until late afternoon. 

Coffee cooled and work complete for the moment, Keith rests his head against Shiro’s chest and closes his eyes like he might fall back asleep. It’s warm in their bed. 

The Atlas is in orbit and the stars drift across the window like falling snow. 

And for now, at least, they have no place to go. 

***

**Author's Note:**

> Blueyblues, I really hope you enjoyed your present!! I love cozy scenes so thank you for the prompt, hopefully I did it justice. Wishing you the absolute merriest of holiday seasons!! 
> 
> Thank you everyone for reading!! This fic oscillates pretty wildly between absurdly soft and stupidly horny….then back to soft. I tried to ‘fix’ it but then I was like, well. That’s sheith for ya. LOL I hope it was alright to read. If you feel like it, please leave a kudos or even a comment and I would be really happy. 
> 
> Last thing: [My twitter](https://twitter.com/jacqulinetan)!! My love for keith is only overshadowed by my love for cats, so if you follow you’ll be getting a lot of retweets of both lol


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